To Change A Myth
by Fianna
Summary: Lord of the Dance fic (wow! I'm branching out!) John Carey is on a sugar high and decides to change the ending of the show...


Thanks go to: Thanks Kait.. this kept wanting to turn into slash, dammit! Also thanks to Alyson because the pixie sticks in the story are thanks to her. Also thanks to Kimala because of Ohio. And finally to the Feisgirl because she wrote the first LOTD fic on ff.net and so gave me this idea. Oh, by the way, I prefer Coke to Pepsi, but I thought people might think Coke was coke and that'd just be.. bad.. *G*. So I opted for Pepsi instead. This is obviously set some time in the past since John's no longer in LOTD (don't know about the other two). Oh and it's been so long since I've seen the show I might have forgotten some aspects of the actual performance. My bad, I apologise.  
  
  
  
John Carey was bored. Ordinarily when he was bored he'd find something to do, but this time he'd run into dead ends. He couldn't practice the Duel with Cian because Cian was out with his girlfriend, Dearbhla. He couldn't read, because he'd finished his book an hour ago and had no desire to re-read it again so soon. He couldn't eat because he'd just eaten lunch. He couldn't swim because it was too cold. And he couldn't go for a walk because all troupe members had to have someone else with them all the time for safety reasons and he didn't know where the others were.  
So, he was stuck in his hotel room being bored.  
His gaze fell onto a notebook and pen lying on his bedside table. Well, why not? It wasn't as if he had anything else to do. Sighing, he picked up the pen and began writing a letter to his parents.  
  
15 minutes later he was startled by a knock at the door.   
"Come in."  
"Am I interrupting something?" A blonde head poked itself around the doorframe.  
"No, not at all, Michael. I'm so bored I'm writing home."  
"Your mother will die of shock!"  
"Funny."  
John put the pen down as Michael Edwards walked into the room and jumped on the bed. John and Michael were pretty good friends and had been for a while. They shared a lot of the same interests, and enjoyed throwing insults back and forth.  
"So, what brings you to my humble abode at this late hour?" It was only 8 p.m., but John chose to overlook that fact.  
"Oh, you know, just felt like some company." Michael stretched back on the bed, propping himself up with pillows.  
"Make yourself at home, won't you?" John said dryly, watching his friend.  
"Don't I always?"  
"Unfortunately."  
"Oh, don't lie, you love my company."  
"Right, I can't live when I'm not around you. You complete me Michael!"  
Michael grinned and threw a pillow at John. "Now, now, let's not get carried away!"  
"Sure, just deny the truth, then." John tossed the pillow back at Michael and stood up. "I'm bored. Want to go for a walk?"  
Michael shrugged. "Only if we can go past a shop so I can buy Pixie Sticks."  
"What the hell are Pixie Sticks?"  
"They're these little paper tubes with sherbet in them... only I swear they put more than sherbet in them because they make you totally hyper once you have a few of them."  
"Everything makes you hyper, Michael."  
"Just wait till you try them! You'll see!"  
"Fine," John sighed. "We'll get you some Pixie Sticks."  
"Yay!"  
  
A short time later, John and Michael were walking down the streets of Ohio - complete with Pixie Sticks.  
"Come on, you have to try one!"  
"When we get back to the hotel." John waved the pixie stick away.  
"Aww, you're no fun."  
"So you keep telling me."  
Michael was carrying a shopping bag filled with Pixie Sticks. John had a bag of his own with Pepsi and chocolate inside.  
"You know, between the two of us we have enough sugar and caffeine to last for several days!"  
"It's probably not healthy," John admitted. "But at least it's better than getting stuck into the mini bar at the hotel."  
"You're telling me! With the prices they charge? It's criminal."  
John resisted the urge to hit Michael over the head with his shopping bag and instead lead the way into the hotel lobby. "Your room or mine?"  
"Is that a proposition?" Michael raised an eyebrow. "John, I... don't know what to say!"  
"You certainly don't need any more sugar, my friend," John told Michael as they waited for an elevator.  
Michael laughed. "Sorry. I just keep hoping that one day one of my suggestive remarks will embarrass you." He considered his statement for a moment. "Except usually they backfire and I end up being embarrassed."  
"Let that be a lesson to you." The elevator doors opened and they got in, John pressing the button for the 7th floor. "Now, your room or mine?"  
"Yours. I have to share with Denis. How come you get a room to yourself?"  
"I'm the star of the show, remember?"  
"Ha! You wish."  
  
The two continued their exchange as they made their way from the elevator to John's room.  
"Oh, so I'm not the star any more? I wasn't aware the name of the show had been changed from 'Lord of the Dance' to 'Unknown Blonde Troupe Member Who Grins All The Time.' I do apologise."  
"Yeah well, not even you can know everything."  
John opened the door to his room and threw his stuff onto his bed. "Okay, here we are. Home, sweet home."  
Michael closed the door behind him and quickly sat down. "NOW will you try a pixie stick?"  
"Do I have a choice?"  
"Sure. I can go and you can continue that lovely letter to your parents."  
John considered his options for all of a second. "Give me the bag."  
"I knew you'd see reason," Michael said, tossing a few packets of pixie sticks to John. "Enjoy them!"  
  
Several hours later John and Michael had consumed FAR too many pixie sticks between the two of them and as a result they were on extreme sugar highs. Michael was running around the room hitting imaginary objects with a pillow, while John was lying on his back on the floor trying to dance a hardshoe reel.  
"Michael?"  
"Yeah?"  
"How come the good guy always wins?"  
"Huh?" Michael tripped over John and collapsed next to him. "What do you mean?"  
"Well, take Lord of the Dance, for example. Don Dorcha tries every night to be the ruler of the world, but he never gets to win. I don't think that's very fair, do you?" John sat up and leaned against the bed. "I think Dorcha should get to win sometimes."  
"What do you suggest? That we rewrite the whole end of the show so that the Lord of the Dance is defeated?" There was silence. "Oh God... tell me you're not serious!"  
"I'm on a serious sugar high and you expect me to come up with rational thoughts?"  
"Okay, point taken." Michael took a flying leap onto the bed and almost fell off. "So we rewrite the show so that Cian wins."  
"Yep."  
Michael considered the implications for the plan. "Flatley would murder us!"  
"Why would we have to tell him?"  
"Oh, so you think we can just change the entire show and he won't know?"  
John shrugged. "Maybe."  
"You're insane. And look, the whole cast would have to be in on it. How would we convince them?"  
John stood up and stretched his legs. "That, at least, is easy. Everyone's been getting bored lately; this would be just the thing to put some excitement into our lives. Besides, it's not like we've never done anything like this before. Remember the incredible Morrighan/Saoirse switch?"  
Michael laughed as he recalled the incident. The girls playing Morrighan and Saoirse had - unbeknownst to the rest of the cast - decided to play each other's roles one night. The girls in the troupe had almost had a heart attack when a dark-haired Saoirse came onstage during Celtic Dream, and the whole cast had found it hysterical that Morrighan suddenly had blonde hair. The incident had, of course, reached the ears of Michael Flatley, but he had laughed and merely cautioned the girls that the incident wasn't something to be repeated often.  
  
It took John several minutes (and many more pixie sticks) to convince Michael, but finally he agreed.   
"But only because the audience here is so great they deserve something special," he added firmly, pulling John to his feet.  
The two of them began choreographing the new ending to the show. It was decided that during the Duel the roles would be switched so that John was dancing Don Dorcha's part and Cian was dancing the Lord's. That way Cian would win the duel. After the duel the two violinists were going to play the music for Warriors again and Cian would do a short solo dance. Then the Victory music would cut to the section where the troupe enters and everyone would do the same dance as usual, except of course that Cian was in the front and not John.  
John went to work choreographing Cian's solo while Michael called Cian and Dearbhla's room to see if they were back. By the time John was halfway through the dance Cian was knocking on the door.  
Michael rushed to open it. "Cian! Come on in!"  
Cian walked in and was almost hit in the face by John's foot. "Hey, nobody told me I needed to bring protection," he complained.  
John apologised and went back to his dancing while Michael explained their plan to Cian. Like Michael he went through stages of amusement, intrigue, outright refusal and finally agreement. Of course, in Cian's case the fact that he was going to be the lead - sort of - for a night was pretty persuasive.   
"Michael, can you let the rest of the cast know what's going on?" John asked as he finished Cian's solo. "Their dance doesn't change, but they might appreciate the warning."  
Michael grinned and sped off, leaving John and Cian behind.  
"Right. This is your dance. Follow me - one, two, three, four." John began the dance stopping every eight counts to have Cian copy him. The steps themselves were fairly similar to Cian's earlier Warriors solo, but with a bit of an added flair. It didn't take Cian long to pick them up - in fact, he was finished by the time Michael returned to the room.  
"Well?" Cian asked Michael, collapsing on the bed.  
Michael grabbed one of the hotel chairs and sat down. "All done," he reported. "Nobody had a problem with it once I told them the three of us would take the blame."  
John raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.  
"Let's do it then," Cian declared, standing on the bed with one arm upraised. "To infinity and beyond!"  
Michael looked suspiciously at John. "Did you give him my pixie sticks or something?"  
"Nope, he did that ALL by himself..."  
  
The afternoon wore on and before they knew it, the show was about to begin. Only John seemed relaxed. The entire troupe was excited and anxious, Michael was a bit worried and Cian looked like he was about to faint. Once he was onstage, though, he forgot about being scared of Michael Flatley and performed as best he could. By the time they reached the Duel Cian had completely forgotten about the switched roles and both he and John started doing Don Dorcha's steps. It wasn't until John glared at him that he remembered. Grinning sheepishly he quickly switched to John's, thankful that he and John had practiced together so often they knew each other's roles in their sleep. He could hear some puzzled sounds from the crowed and held back a laugh - the fans already knew something was different. He tried to look as menacing as possible as the Duel finished and John ran offstage, fighting down his urge to laugh. Instead, he concentrated on the steps John had taught him that afternoon, glaring at the audience and basically trying to be as frightening as possible. By the time the rest of the troupe came out he could see fans in the front row laughing and pointing to him. Someone even yelled out "Go Cian!" although he couldn't make out whom it was. The cast was midway through Victory at that point, and everyone was having a great time trying to scowl and look evil. When the dance finished the crowd burst into applause and Cian could hear cheering from the people in the front row. The lights went out and the cast raced to their encore positions.  
When the lights stopped flashing and lit the troupe up properly the audience started to laugh. There, in the front, was both John AND Cian, having a great time and dancing John's part together.   
When the troupe came out after the show John and Cian were mobbed as they tried to get to the bus. Fans cornered them, asking about the change, and people who had never seen the show wanted autographs and photos. By the time they finally managed to escape the bus was about to leave without them. They collapsed in the empty seat at the front and for a moment the bus was silent. Then, as it pulled away the entire troupe burst into laughter. It had been a good show.  
  
Of course, Michael Flatley did find out about the switch and he blamed John, since John was dance captain for the troupe and should have known better. He called John's hotel room a couple of days after the incident. Cian and Michael were in his room at the time, and started to worry when the conversation went on for a while and John didn't look happy at all.   
"What if he gets fired?" Michael whispered.  
"Flathead wouldn't be that angry, would he?"  
Michael shrugged. "Hey, he's hanging up the phone. Ask him what happened."  
"You ask."  
"You!"  
"You!"  
John waved an arm. "Guys... can I help?"  
"What did he say?" Cian asked, hitting Michael with a pillow.  
"You'll never guess," John replied, "so I'll tell you. He wasn't angry. Well, actually at first he was and there was all this crap about changing his masterpiece and stuff, but then he said he'd had a phone call from the theatre here and people have been ringing all day saying how great the show was and trying to get tickets till they sold out! So, he decided that it's just what the show needs and we get to keep doing it!"  
"What?" Michael and Cian said in unison.  
"Once at each place we visit," John continued. "Something like a lucky dip I don't know. But anyway, he said it had a whole lot of commercial possibilities and he thanked me and then we hung up."  
  
The show became even more successful after that, with fans booking to see two or three extra shows on the chance that they might see Cian win. Cian was thrilled because he suddenly got even more attention than ever - and even his brother Daire was impressed with his new solo. Michael was happy because Michael Flatley bought him a huge box of Pixie Sticks to thank him. And John? Well, two months later John was in another room again so bored that he was writing a letter to his mother. Some things never change, after all!  



End file.
